In Cells
by ReadySetStay
Summary: Sometimes it's easy to forget where I am, if I just sit back on a wall and close my eyes.... Alice fan fiction. No shipping, as far as I am aware. Enjoy.
1. To Start

A/n: Yes, I know Alice may seem a bit dark in this one. I'm assuming that the tone of an Asylum is never truly happy, and by this, I am going by. If I would ever write a present day Alice, of course she'd be her regular self. Excuse the shortness, please.

My cell is dark. I see no one, not even my own reflection in the timid darkness. I stretch my lanky, stout arms out, pulling them to their highest length, feeling my joints pang in displeasure. I am utterly alone in this mental hospital...this _asylum_. I put my arms down to my sides. Standing in the middle of this hostel cell, I feel small. Not as if I was ever tall, but small, mind wise. Shouldn't I be banging the walls in rage, crying out as if I were in torture? I face forward, staring at what seemed to be a door. Locked, of course. Who would expect it to be open?

I have very few choices in this prison-esque building. There were certain things I could do outside of the cell, but inside, I have my bed, and a small area for a sink and a toilet. Honestly, I believe the workers here may remove the sinks. I guess someone could use it a weapon. Perhaps the porcelain could tempt someone? I give up my military position and set cross legged on the floor. I couldn't tell the sort of material the floor was made of...concrete? It wasn't wood...

I sigh. Was I honestly thinking of this? I had better thoughts to think of, more important ones at that. I bite my index finger's nail, nibbling. The other nails were already down to almost nothing. I wasn't sure when I had acquired this habit. Certainly not with my parents. I shiver. There wasn't much warmth in a place like this. Almost never would I receive a extra blanket. There was only one special occasion on which I had been given something besides my absolute necessities, and that was one extra pillow, which was taken away from me half way through the night due to a new patient checking in. I let out a harsh laugh. Patient? They rarely help us here.


	2. Food Supplies and Check Ups

Sometime it's easy to forget where I am, if I just sit back on a wall and close my eyes. I, for that one still moment, lose everything...myself included. When I wake from that brief moment of solitude, I am shaken by reality, and thrust back into my small cage. I then tear my shaved head, scratching at where my lovely locks once where. I feel small bits of hair growing. They feel prickly, and I quickly put my hands back to my lap, not wanting to stir up any painful memories of my entry to this godforsaken place. I wait to be either escorted to cafeteria, or for lunch to be brought to me.

_If_, and I emphasize the word _if,_ I am brought to the cafeteria, I am escorted by one guard. I am not maximum security, as there was no reason. I was not murderous, just...different. I am placed onto one of the hard, plastic stools and sit down to a meager meal. Meat, fruit, vegetable, drink. Just enough for this place to be acceptable by the government. I eat this slowly, observing the other minimum security inmates. I have noticed that the higher security level you are, the less privileges you get. For example, my level is forced to eat two per table, one at each end. There are around seven seats in between, and we are not to exchange glances for more than a second. I noted that I sat with a man, bald as everyone else, but with a sharp, angular face. I did not see his eye color, nor did I care. I would never met him.

We are numbers to the other patients. To the doctors, we are our first name, and our first name only. They knew our last names, but we were not respected enough to be given the option of using it. I was Mary, or Patient/Inmate 139. At times, I wish I could just be called Alice. It wouldn't be a crime. However, I am ignored, as if I were a dirty begger child. I dream of my old days, occasionally. I usually try to forget them, to push them out of my mind. I now realize that those days are long gone, and my ability has sunken into my body, pushing everything else out.

*************

"Mary," I was sitting on a bed, with a male checking my pressure points. "Have you been hallucinating lately?" I twitch.

"I do not hallucinate, sir." I said. My voice was raspy. I felt myself tilt my head in surprise. Then again, I wasn't used to _not_ talking. The male let out a chuckle. He toyed with a few other medical tests I can not be bothered to tell about, and threw out question after question. I was never quite sure what they had do with my situation. After thirty minutes of quick check up, he helps me off the bed.

"Nothing odd," He adjusted his blouse. "You seem to be a bit hungry, even though you just ate. But, that's not too unusual." He lead me to the doorway, and motioned a guard to escort me back to my cell.

"Good afternoon." I said, my head hung to the floor.


	3. Ponderings

I wake the morning after, my hands clinging to the hard steel the bed frame that I lay in was made of. My face is damp, and my palms sweaty. I wiped the disgusting liquid on my night pants, and sat up. My room was normal, nothing out of the ordinary. It was at times like this that I wish a clock had been nailed on the wall. I wrap my arms around my body. I could feel the fingertips easily meet, and could possibly even wring them together. I squeeze my body, my ams suffocating my rib cage. I suck in deeply, then breathe out. My arms popped off my stature, landing them on the hard matteress. I rub my eyes. I wasn't to be awake, but...I certainly was not going to get back sleep. Not now, after such a surpising awake.

I sometimes wonder if my visions come in my sleep occasionally, as nights such as this had been happening quite often lately. Perhaps the strict confinments of this place had caused these...thoughts to become disturbed, due to the lack of cooperation from everyone, inculding me. As if they were a child refused a piece of chocolate in a candy store. I bit my lip. I could never tell. Nothing showed up in my dreams, or at least nothing rememberable. My doctors thought I was mentally ill, or else I wouldn't be here, so suggesting this therory would just make my life an even larger burning pit of Hell.

I fold my arms behind my head and lean on the brick wall behind the bed. I lick my lips, and the soft tissue let out a ringing shade of pain. They were chapped; honestly, who would care? I tenderly rubbed the dead skin that came off with the saliva with my ring finger, then wiped the cells on my pants.

I strech my body out. Even at such a short heighth, my feet could touch the end of the bed. I looked up at the ceiling, out the tiles, as if they were stars. When I was little, I remember I would run outside in my night gown alone, and watch the sky, looking for anything. Then again, I also remember being pulled inside by Mother, who would promptly set me back into my bed, wish me good night, then leave me. I would throw a fit in my mind, then give it up.


	4. Visits

The nights were often like such. Eventually I would become upset, then fall asleep, my cheeks wet and my eyes red. Crying was not an easy option for me, not even in this state. Frustration could be easily dealt with...Sadness and depression could not.

Morning slowly creeps on the horizon, and a young man enters my room and shakes my shoulder. I feel the urge to reach and around and scratch his face, but I shake his hand off and sit up in my bed, pulling my shirt down as I blink the sleep away.

"Hello 139," He says, placing a plastic cup in my hand. It was my medicine, all gathered. I could never quite remember the names of the pills, although I knew I probably didn't need them.

"Can you please call me Alice?" I requested for at least the tenth time this week. "Or even Mary?"

"Sorry," The man cleared his throat. "Numbers at all times, unless with a doctor. You know that." I shrugged.

"Do I at least get water?" I shook the pills.

"Oh yes," He reached into his white coat and pulled out a small water bottle. "Empty the cup." He instructed. I did so, placing the pills in my left hand, and he poured the clear liquid. I took a sip, then dropped the capsules in, one by one. I then handed the cup back to the man. He took it away.

"Aren't you going to write about me? On your paper?" I nodded my head to a slip of paper sticking out his pocket. He shook his head and stuck the paper back in, so I couldn't see it anymore.

"Uh, no," He said nothing else. I feel his attitude become solemn. He takes the cup from me, and leaves the room. I am alone again, despite my urge to yell for civilization to talk to me.

My loneliness is overwhelming sometimes. I know it is in my best interest to stay quiet, and if I am a good little girl, then maybe I'll get to walk outside my cell, watch the others. The man from before let me out once, out of pity. He walked me around, letting me talk to the other inmates. I only talked to ones who looked friendly, which was hard to find in this place. Everyone was either depressed or angry, or even suicidal. I myself was a bit of the first two. I could never force myself to 'suicide'. It seemed selfish to me, even a bit brutal.

I hug myself, wrapping my arms around my body, shaking back and forth. It was only a little while until breakfast, only a little bit until I was taken to the dining hall...I sigh. It's not a dining hall in the least.

******************

The nurses and workers supplied me with books sometimes. Only certain ones, since some thought us inmates were too stupid to read. The same workers who thought we were stupid also thought I was _foolish_, so foolish they couldn't bear with me. They made others do their job, made _others_ take me to the washrooms, to the eating area, to the doctor's...I was not going to hurt them, but in their mind I was insane, I was mentally ill. They couldn't trust to take care of myself, none of them.

I place my head into my hands, working my fingers into my temple, attempting to calm myself. It was in these situations, I would receive my visions, when I was angry.


End file.
